


A Nightmare

by GoodeyeCyborg



Series: Can I Get A Medic? [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, empurata talk, pharma swaps sides au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodeyeCyborg/pseuds/GoodeyeCyborg
Summary: Part 1 of Can I Get a Medic





	A Nightmare

Tarn jolted awake. Tears streaking his face. Face? His shaking hands reached up and traced the soft, scarred protomesh of his face. The tank vented a heavy sigh of relief. He was still him. His processor had forced him to relive a time before this. Well, both after and before having a face really. Before this frame, before he had truly found a purpose in serving Megatron, before-

“Tarn, can you hear me?” The voice seemed far away but as he turned away from his own palms, he was met by the medic they’d taken in not long ago. Pharma. The Autobot had been going largely underappreciated by his misguided ilk and at the slightest suggestion, had allowed himself to be lead aboard the Peaceful Tyranny. 

“Of course I can hear you.” He rumbled, his voice shakier than he would have liked. 

“Good. I was calling for you, you know. For quite a while.” Upon closer inspection, the medic was leaning quite heavily on his berth. His hand felt heavy, but still reassuring on Tarn’s back. 

“I am sorry. This isn’t- I haven’t-” Pride now set far to the side, Tarn sought only comfort and company. Pharma being here provided both. He leaned into Pharma’s touch, going so far as to press against the medic’s chest plates. 

“It’s alright I just didn’t expect it. I imagine your team is quite used to this.”

“They’re not!” He was all too quick to mumble. “This hasn’t happened in so long.” 

Tarn hardly noticed that Pharma’s arms had curled around him, or that he had managed to seat himself in his berth. “It wasn’t meant as an insult.” His voice was steady, quiet, calming. 

Optics offlined, Tarn tried to slow his vents. He was safe. He wasn’t alone. He was still in his frame. Yet, he had been so easily removed from it. 

There were surgeons around him. The senator who had sentenced him- not him, Damus- was there. He read off what was to be done. The dead opticed mechs who would be stealing his hands, his face, his identity even, from him merely nodded. He had bargained, begged, and sobbed. Every second of it, every word, had fallen on unhearing ears. How many times had they done this? He found himself thinking. How many pleas had they heard that were just like his? 

His optics snapped back online. Pharma was still there. He was still safe, he was still him. 

“You left again.” Pharma stated simply. As though flashbacks were standard. For a medic who worked in the Institute they probably were. Tarn had been in and out afterhours back when he was still known as Glitch. Did Pharma remember him. “Hey, how about I get you something to drink. Something warm might help calm you.” 

“No!” He paused. “I mean, please. Stay.” 

“You’re shaking so hard I can hardly keep you on the berth. How can I help you?” 

“By just not leaving.”

Pharma sighed, it went against everything he knew to do, but if it was what Tarn wanted, then its what he would do. “Alright.” 

“Do you remember them? Your patients?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Your patients, if you were to see one outside of the Institute would you remember them.” 

Tarn stole a glance up at the medic’s proud, angular features. “Some.” He said at long last. “I remember some. The ones Ratchet brought in after hours, some of the autopsies. Not most of my standard procedures. You know, the wealthy mechs looking to do temporary frame swaps.” 

“Distasteful.”

“It’s tacky.” The contempt was audible. “I forced them from my mind the second they left. It was good money but gods did I hate them.” 

Tarn’s engine rumbled as he finally calmed down. The other mech talked and didn’t force him to do the same. He appreciated that. He appreciated too that Glitch was somewhere in the pretty medic’s memories. “Was that the only place you could find work?” He prompted. The more Pharma talked the less he had to remember… all that.

“I don’t want to talk about this. I was only sometimes allowed to do any good before the war started. Even afterwards I had to hear ‘good for a jet’ more times than I can count.” 

“Why did you not join with Lord Megatron, if you loathe the Functionist ideals so much? Surely it would have been a better fit.” 

“My motivation doesn’t matter. I’m where I’m appreciated now.” 

Was Pharma smiling? He could hear it! Tarn turned again to face him. Yes, even in the incredibly dim light, he could see the upturned corners of the medic’s lips. “So we can get you your badge then?” 

“Don’t push it.” He chuckled, “I’m not here because of the Cause, I’m here because of you.” 

Tarn’s spark was now lodged firmly in his throat. That was likely not meant to be as romantic as it sounded but here, curled tight in the other mech’s lap, he would accept it. “Good.” He mumbled as his optics dimmed again. 

Pain. Searing pain was what greeted him when he awoke. His hands shot to the source of his pain, which had now spread across his entire neck. What greeted his cables was not the dull tips of his fingers as he had anticipated, rather claw tips. No. No no no no! His vents quickened. Shaking, he pulled his hands from his neck to confirm. They were gone. His hands had been replaced by three pronged, inarticulate, cruel, mockeries of hands. Had he a mouth it would have fallen open in a horrified scream. What left him, however, was a highly processed, synthesized noise. He couldn’t call it anything else because it certainly wasn’t a voice. There was a sob that caught painfully in his throat. He couldn’t release it, not properly. His entire body trembled uncontrollably. Why?! Memories of what had lead to this were fuzzy. The pain wasn’t. The pain was clear and present and at the very forefront of his awareness. A cold voice informed him that he was awake and-

“Tarn!” 

His optics snapped on again. He was clinging more tightly to Pharma than he remembered. Fresh, humiliating tears streamed down his scarred cheeks. He hated this! Why was tonight so bad? “I apologize for all of this, Pharma.” 

“I would prefer it if you didn’t. Can you tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help. I am a doctor, after all.” How could he sound so confident and so reassuring? Affection swelled within Tarn like he had never really known before. He cuddled closer to Pharma, his own arms finally curling tight around his middle. 

“Memories. It’s always memories, isn’t it?” He forced a laugh. It was tempting to divulge the entirety of his life’s story and its associated traumas to Pharma. The mech had been nothing but honest and kind to him. It frightened him to imagine how quickly that would change if he mentioned a word of his past. “The past is a dreadful thing that is best kept locked away. It is best that each of us is the only one to visit our monsters so as not to force them onto others.” 

“Understandable. However, some monsters are harder to control than others and may require help from a willing companion.” Tarn couldn’t help but notice that Pharma was running his hand along the plating of his back, tracing over some of the biolights there. “You trust me to perform surgery on you on  a monthly basis. You can trust me with what troubles you now.” 

“Please, don’t worry about this so much, Pharma.” Tarn’s own hands began to loosen. He hated the idea of denting the other mech’s plating. “It is less about the memories themselves, and more about their persistence.” It was a lie, of course. He could deal with nearly anything but the vivid recollections of his empurata. The day he went from a citizen to a monster all because of his stupid outlier abilities. He knew it was all his own fault for not having better control over his talent. Self loathing burned at his spark. He longed to transform,  but held off. Transforming now would mean getting up and leaving Pharma’s arms. Instead he reached up and picked at the already torn up metal of his face. His fingertips dug in, the sharp sting grounded him and punished him. It was perfect. 

Until Pharma’s hand wrapped tight around his. “Please don’t. I have no idea what’s going through your head right now, but it’s not worth hurting yourself for.” 

Tarn wanted to fight but exhaustion was beginning to take him. 

“Would it help you if I sang to you? That helped- well, it’s helped others rest when they were afraid.” 

“I would like that.” Tarn said, trying to keep his optics online. Pharma began to sing. His tenor soft and smooth. It was some old lullabye Tarn only had the faintest imprints of memories of. Still, it brought a blanket of calm over his troubled spark. Maybe his medic was an outlier and didn’t realize. Slowly, with only minimal protest from Tarn, his optics offlined. 

This time Tarn was greeted by rest. No more terrors. No more memories. Only dreams with the softest edges. He would have to figure out a proper way to thank Pharma for helping him in the morning. He hoped that he would still be there. That he would still be soft and affectionate as he was now. Surely Pharma would still be there, after all, Tarn was almost positive he could feel Pharma’s lips press against the top of his helm. 


End file.
